


Can You Talk?

by moonbehindmountain



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Cell Phones, Cozy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fireside Kissing, Kissing, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Making Out, Neck Kissing, Phone Calls & Telephones, Rough Kissing, Top Tseng (Compilation of FFVII), late night phone call, lonely rufus shinra, lonely tseng, lord and vassal, rufus shinra has a thicc ass, rufus shinra wears grey sweatpants, tseng eats microwave ramen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28375515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonbehindmountain/pseuds/moonbehindmountain
Summary: Tseng is up, it's 2:00 AM and he can't stop thinking about "the case." Late night intrusive thoughts have him unable to sleep. Suddenly, a phone call. It's probably one of his Turks. But no...Rufus Shinra's name is scrolling across the screen. Does he pick up?
Relationships: Rufus Shinra & Tseng, Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Can You Talk?

Tseng shifted through the files, his brow narrowed, licking his finger once before lifting out one he’d labeled “Cetra Intel.” It was late, but he couldn’t get his mind off of what Cetra meant, whirling, enticing words like “promised land” and Avalanche. He couldn’t sleep until he’d figured out a way...to keep her safe but also finish the job. He sipped at a cup of black coffee, a dark roast with a rich fragrance, enjoying a brief moment of indulgence before setting the file down on the desk and flipping it open. 

His home office was a narrow enclave of a cubicle, sided by a wall in the corner of his apartment and encased by metal file cabinets. There were towering industrial shelves neatly stacked with bindings of paperwork. His desk was illuminated by a sole desk lamp. He pulled out one of the desk drawers, clicking open a pen. He shuffled through a few of the papers within the file. 

There she was. 

A photograph of blurry resolution of who he knew was the last Cetra. He knew deep down it was wrong, to draw out the mission as long as he had. But something inside him knew. That to betray her freedom by capturing her somehow made a statement about his own. 

Was...he free? 

Tseng’s cell phone buzzed from his living room, vibrating against the bare coffee table. It was probably Reno. He’d been out on mission, a rumor of insubordinate SOLDIERs that he’d needed to scope out, and he’d asked him to report once he’d finished. The chair slid out beneath him with a scrape. His stomach clenched at the sight of the number scrolling across his screen. 

Rufus Shinra. 

He flipped open the phone with cold perspiration on his palms and answered,

“Sir?” 

He heard a soft laugh on the other end of the line.

“Did I wake you up?” Rufus’ voice was a bit garbled, throaty. Tseng wondered if he’d been drinking. It sounded like it.

“I’ve been working, sir.” 

“On the case?” 

“Yes,” Tseng admitted. 

“It’s two in the morning.” 

“I-I can’t sleep, sir.” He tugged his loungewear, a long, black, unadorned kimono, tighter around his body, his house slippers shuffling against the concrete floor.

“Hm,” Rufus mumbled, a soft, rustling noise of what sounded like maybe bed sheets crackling over the line. A silence strung out between them.

“Was there something you needed, sir? You really should be getting rest.” 

“Let me come over,” Rufus’ voice was thick with suggestion and plea.

“Sir-”

“I can _help_ . With the _case_.” 

Tseng lowered his voice to a whisper, as if he was being eavesdropped on.

“Sir... it’s late.” 

Rufus sighed.

“Enough with the _sir_ , Tseng...I told you last time to drop it when it’s just the two of us.” 

“It’s out of habit.” 

“Then tell me you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“And say my name.”

“M-my apologies...Rufus…”

Tseng heard him make a noise of satisfaction, a smile in his voice.

“Now, tell me you want to see me.”

Tseng glanced over at his desk. His apartment suddenly seemed cold, empty, dark. Illuminated only by evidence of his dedication to his work. No sign of other human life. Rufus and him...they’d worked well together...now the relationship had grown a bit too complicated for Tseng. Messy. It was hard to know where the line was drawn between work...and...after that one day when Rufus had…

Tseng thought of Rufus’ eyes. Narrow, calculating, always eager with new ideas and a cold, cloaked enthusiasm. He thought of his fingers...how they’d ran across his face, ice against his skin, curling their way up into his hairline and through his hair. The incredulous, desperate feeling that Rufus had actually kissed him. And the terrifying notion that Tseng now craved _more_ . _More of him._

He sat down on his sofa, inhaling, deliberating. Would he allow himself this? Again?

“God, I know what you’re thinking,” Rufus interrupted his introspection. “That you shouldn’t. It’s _okay_ , Tseng. You don’t need to justify it. Just...just let it happen.” Rufus hummed, “Plus, I want to kiss you again.” 

Tseng swallowed. His jaw felt tight. A wave of arousal rippled over his body, irrepressible and wild and so hard to bite down. 

“I-I do,” he whispered breathlessly, as if speaking a sin, “I want to see you.” 

“Do you want me to bring wine? I have Malbec. Your favorite.”

“Whatever you’d like,” Tseng said. He could care less about the wine.

“I’ll be there soon....and wear your hair down...” 

Rufus ended the call, Tseng’s phone screen going dark. He snapped it shut, placing it in a side table drawer.

What was done was done.

\---

Rufus slipped off his shoes at the genkan, casual suede trainers that he’d wear to the gym and out walking D on the rooftop patio and private garden. Tseng had joined him every now and then, when he’d felt like it was necessary for Rufus to be accompanied by an escort. 

There was a bottle of Malbec fisted in Rufus’ hand, his hair hanging forward in his face as he tucked his shoes into the rack by Tseng’s door. 

“Sorry, I look like shit,” Rufus said marble-mouthed. He was wearing grey cotton sweatpants and an oversized black t-shirt. Tseng recognized it from a Shinra-funded company convention. Rufus pushed back his hair and set the bottle down gently on a small table. 

The table exhibited a Wutain style vase. Something about seeing a Wutai artifact in a Shinra-owned apartment, and a Turk’s apartment nonetheless, filled Rufus with a sense of warm pride. Their hard work would pay off...in the end of all this. 

Rufus eyed Tseng over, taking in the view of Tseng’s dark cropped hair hanging loose at his jawline. His claret-colored eyes were narrow with curiosity, dark circles bagging beneath them. He looked so... _human_. So real. Not just a Turk here, but...Tseng.

Rufus approached him with the glint of the distant desk lamp illuminating his eyes, lingering on Tseng’s lips. 

Tseng tucked his kimono more tightly around his body, withdrawing slightly, not quite finding proper words to respond adequately, first, to Rufus’ self-deprecation, and second, to the intensity of his gaze. 

Tseng just felt defenseless.

“It’s alright, relax,” Rufus assured with a slight smile. He grabbed Tseng by the bicep, squeezing it once, running his fingers down the silk of his sleeve. Tseng breathed in deep, attempting to quell his anxiety at Rufus’ touch.

“Nice place,” Rufus remarked nonchalantly. He took a few steps inside, running his hands over the granite kitchen counter. Tseng’s apartment was spartan and sparse: his curtains closed to the outside world, grey walls, black cabinets, steel and stone and black leather a part of every marker of his home. Rufus imagined he’d have just one of everything. One pair of metal chopsticks, one bowl, one knife. 

After all, Tseng and modesty were practically synonymous. His work desk was really the only evidence of human life. Books and binders and paperwork stacked neatly on shelves, an open folder laying out. Rufus didn’t want anything to do with that corner right now. He turned around and began opening cabinets in search of wine glasses. 

“Top left,” Tseng directed, picking up the wine bottle and pulling the tab clockwise to remove its foil seal. He tried not to linger on the sight of Rufus’ ass, the curve of it tight against the sweatpants as Rufus reached upwards. Any intrusive sexual thought sent Tseng’s brain buzzing with unease. But it was just _there_. 

The glasses clinked together as Rufus set on them on the counter. Pulling open a drawer and retrieving a corkscrew, Tseng unsheathed it and began winding it into the cork. 

“Here, let me,” Rufus said, taking it in his hands and twisting it with slight creaks, releasing the cork with a pop. Tseng swallowed at the way Rufus’ fingers curled, wrapping around the neck of the bottle.

“Have you ever used that?” Rufus nodded to Tseng’s fireplace as the wine glugged into the glass. 

“Once or twice,” Tseng said, his eyes low. 

“Hm, let me guess. You usually spend nights late at the office. Shower, piss, work, sleep. Rinse, repeat?” 

Tseng pressed his lips together. _Was that such a bad thing?_

“Well sir, I do find time to eat every now and then. Cup noodles and microwave yakisoba are my speciality.” 

Rufus laughed softly. Tseng relished in the crinkled look of amusement on his face, the white glint of his teeth, smiling gently along with him.

“Not a robot after all, eh?” 

Rufus teased him with a brush of his shoulder against Tseng’s, handing him a glass. 

“I’ll light it up. If I’m paying for this place, I want you to enjoy it, got that?” 

Rufus walked over to the living room, wine glass hanging from his hand, and took the thin remote control from the mantle. He brushed the dust off of it with his thumb. With a few clicks, the fireplace ignited with blue and yellow flame, casting a warm glow to Tseng’s black leather sectional and the rest of the apartment. 

“Do you have any music?” Rufus inquired, taking a sip of his wine. “I want to listen to something you’d like.” 

“I-I think so, just a moment,” Tseng retreated to his bedroom. He emerged shortly afterwards with a large vinyl record in his arms. 

“What the hell is that?” Rufus sneered. 

“My music,” Tseng said steadily, opening a storage cabinet and pulling out a record player. He plugged it into the wall, retrieved the vinyl from its casing and set it on the turntable. He switched on the player with the turn of a knob. Rufus approached with curiosity, resting his chin on Tseng’s shoulder. 

“How does it work?” 

“You just lift the needle like this,” Tseng demonstrated, “Then lower it on the outer edge. The needle reads the grooves in the disc. It’s an old album, but…” 

The record crackled and then began playing lulling, lush jazz piano. It was surprisingly romantic and warm. Rufus wasn’t sure what he’d expected Tseng’s taste in music to be, but it wasn’t this. Rufus nuzzled against Tseng’s back.

“Your muscles feel tense,” Rufus whispered, massaging his bicep with a gentle force. Tseng relished in the pressure and release, soothing aches that he’d been conditioned to ignore. Rufus set the glass of wine down on a coaster the cabinet, taking Tseng’s and setting it down next to his. 

“Veld had us practicing at the shooting range all week,” Tseng whispered, closing his eyes, breathing out with a slight moan in the back of his throat as Rufus began pressing and circling his thumbs with force into the muscles of his upper back and neck. 

“Feel good?” Rufus said, moving down his back and then back up it again. 

“Mm,” Tseng hummed. 

“I don’t want to talk about Veld,” Rufus said, his voice low and growling against Tseng’s ear. His hands moved from Tseng’s back to the front of his chest, caressing him, feeling the curvature of his muscles beneath the robe. 

Tseng felt his fingers graze over his nipples, his abdomen, all sensitive, arousing epicenters. He felt dizzyingly warm. Out of control. Rufus began nipping at his neck. Everything...his work, his anxiety, his objectives...war and operatives and management...all sense of duty seemed to be dissolving, like sugar in water, into nothingness.

“You smell good,” he said against Tseng’s skin, which was warm and moist from his kissing. Rufus combed Tseng’s cropped hair through his fingers, as if he were gathering it up at the nape of his neck. 

Tseng, at first hesitating, then reached his hand up for Rufus’ cheek, inhaling deeply. 

“I shouldn’t be doing this, Rufus,” Tseng whispered. He both hated and loved every undulation of emotion and arousal welling up deep within him. “We can’t do this again.” 

“Who has to know?” Rufus said between kisses, pulling down Tseng’s robe, revealing his naked shoulder, running his hand over his skin. 

Tseng’s heart was aching so badly it hurt. This was his superior. A supposedly effigy, a distant and empty idol of Shinra. Something meant to be empty and to be served. But no, Rufus wasn’t that at all. He couldn’t bear to separate his personhood from the symbol, no...the weapon...he was put out to be. He...he longed so deeply to be near him. And not just because Rufus was asking him to. Because it was what _he_ wanted. 

Tseng gripped Rufus by the hand and turned to face him. He lifted his eyes to Rufus, the glint of the fireplace illuminating them, fire and flickering red. Rufus’ lips were parted, wet with saliva. Tseng tugged Rufus close to his body, wrapping his arm tightly around Rufus’ waist, the narrow of their pelvises meeting, grinding warm and pleasurable against the other. 

Tseng then clutched Rufus by the back of the head and kissed him fully on the mouth. Rufus hummed in a surprised delight. Tseng let out a soft sigh of gratification through his nostrils as he indulged, meeting Rufus’ tongue, silken and reminiscent of all things tantalizing and sexual and escalative. 

He couldn’t help but imagine how soft and warm it would feel on the most sensitive parts of his body, Rufus’ eyes closed and brow narrow in sensational bliss. How he could relish in the feeling of being pushed to the edge of ecstasy. Completely unbound. 

Before he knew exactly what they were doing, they were both pushed up against the wall of his apartment, enraptured in the kiss. Rufus’ body was pinned beneath his, his thigh between his legs. Tseng kissed Rufus’ neck so hard, he was practically biting it. Something animalistic was being brought out in him. He wanted to ravish this man _that_ much. 

“Haah,” Rufus hissed, his mouth curving up into a smile. “You know that kind of hurts. Doing that to your boss could get you into trouble.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Tseng breathed, not stopping. His head was spinning.

“Hm,” Rufus felt heat throughout his body at the sensation. He couldn’t believe Tseng didn’t stop at his teasing reprimand. The fact that he didn’t was incredibly hot. Rufus’ nipples and cock ached to be played with by Tseng, all of his body slick and hot and enraptured in lovemaking. “Ah-” 

Tseng met his noises of arousal, fueled by his inner fantasies combined with the physical, real pleasure, with another firm kiss, Rufus’ sound caught in his mouth. Feeding into Tseng’s hunger, Rufus laced his fingers through Tseng’s hair, the cropped strands soft as silk. He wondered how long he would grow it, and for what reason. He wanted to see how this man would change...year after year...to know him and his body like this. To be near him. To both protect and be protected. 

“Say my name again,” Rufus whispered, breathless. “Say it out loud.” 

“Rufus,” Tseng pleaded, deep in his ear, grinding tight against him. His voice in his ear made his body feel like it was melting. His heart, so often shelled in ice based in a deep-seated fear, liquified and softened. Damageable. Fragile. To Rufus’ surprise, Tseng brought his hand up to Rufus’ neck and continued to kiss him, his hand around his neck in a gentle, pulsing grip. Both potent and tender.

Rufus heard him speak a word that sounded Wutain, soft and round in his mouth, like a song. 

“What does it mean,” Rufus whispered, closing his eyes, feeling Tseng’s fingers around his throat.

“ _My lord_ ,” Tseng said between kisses, his eyes lowering on Rufus’ mouth. He lifted his grip and then brought his fingers to Rufus’ cheek, brushing beneath his eye with his thumb.“A word reserved for a beloved.” He spoke the word again against Rufus’ lips. Rufus wasn’t sure how or when or why he knew that word. But it didn’t matter. Hearing it from Tseng’s lips, over and over again, knowing what meaning they had to Tseng, filled his heart with a robust warmth. 

Rufus heard a noise that Tseng didn’t amidst their making out. It was a soft vibration of Tseng’s cell phone against the coffee table. He didn’t want Tseng to answer it, knowing it was probably for work, but knew...he knew Tseng would worry if he missed the call.

“Hey,” Rufus whispered, “Hey, your phone’s ringing.” 

Tseng let out a noise of annoyance, his hand going limp. He gripped Rufus’ forearm, considering answering it, tugging Rufus along with him next to his leather couch. From here, Tseng could see Reno’s name scrolling across the phone screen. 

“Hm, must be spam,” Tseng clicked the phone to silent and opened a drawer of the table, then closed it with a muted snap. Rufus couldn’t believe it. Was this the same man?

Tseng collapsed onto the couch and then held out his hand for Rufus to join him, smiling slightly. Rufus obliged with a smirk, nuzzling with a grunt against Tseng’s chest as they huddled together, warm against each other and the lull of the fireplace. Tseng kissed Rufus on the top of his head before taking the fur-lined throw off the top of his couch and tossing it over the both of them. 

He wrapped his arms around him, protectively. Rufus felt incredibly warm, incredibly safe. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this kind of intimacy, if ever. The sound of Tseng’s breathing was a comfort to him. He still wanted to have curious sex at some point, especially now knowing what kind of electricity and the chemistry their sexuality had together, but his body had settled here, in the cozy embrace, a protection from the world beyond. 

Both men suddenly realized how absolutely exhausted they were. From carrying responsibility. From harboring intense senses of duty. From the obligations and the expectations and the violence. Both eyes closed, both bodies relaxed, fully, into the other. 

And there was nothing here but a silent understanding of need, dependency; an unspoken bond that would be kept secret but to one another.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
